(buttercupfestival.com)
Sometimes it strikes me suddenly, the static.
Like the trees and the grass I am grounded,
Rooted deep in the fertile loam
Reaching down to unyielding bedrock
Sitting motionless,
Day by day
Waiting
Always waiting
For someone with the gift of freedom
Of motion
Of flight...
For someone to bring me news of elsewhere
To tell me fantastic tales of that which my eyes will never see
Someone to fly back to me and sing of the sky
Lying upon the world like heavy wet cotton
Wrinkled and lazy and blue.
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